


Sepia Snapshots

by VillaKulla



Category: Breaking Bad, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the American Frontier: a time of train robberies, posses, campfires, desert nights, chases on horseback, and of two outlaws named Walter White and Jesse Pinkman who took the West by storm.</p><p>(Based on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sepia Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> I really like Breaking Bad and I really like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and I'm really surprised I didn't do this sooner.

The man in the spectacles and black vest had steadily been winning every hand of cards since he’d sat down at one of the saloon’s round, wooden tables. In front of him was a black hat, a deck of cards, and a large pile of coins. One by one the cowboys had left in frustration. Poker, blackjack, no matter what game they suggested the man would smile underneath his brownish-reddish goatee, and raise an eyebrow like he knew something they didn’t. He’d cut the cards, deal, and promptly trounce whoever sat opposite him. This time the cowboy across from him didn’t seem to be taking it so well. He’d lost every hand he’d played, pile of coins getting smaller, scowl getting larger. Finally he’d stood up, chair screeching, fingers twitching over the pistol in his holster, calling the man in black a cheat, that he must be counting the cards, _something_. To his surprise, the man in the spectacles chuckled.

 

“What, you think it’s funny I’m calling you a cheat?” the cowboy spat out.

 

“No,” the man shook his head. “I think it’s funny you’re doing it in front of _him_.”

 

He jerked his head to the left, and the cowboy turned to see a lean, mean-looking younger guy step out of the shadows. His blue eyes were ice cold as he stared menacingly at the stranger, a tattooed-hand clenched around the smooth handle of a pistol, aimed right at the cowboy’s heart.

 

“You’ve got five seconds to apologize to my partner and get the hell out of dodge,” the kid snarled.

 

The man felt his blood run cold and he stammered out an apology. Because _shit_ , how had he not recognized the man at the table as Walter White, aka ‘Mr. White’? Everyone knew the story of the retired-schoolteacher-turned-train-robber. But even if he hadn’t recognized Walter White, he sure as shit recognized ‘Jackpot’ Jesse Pinkman, fastest shot in the West. He practically stumbled in his hurry to get out of the place, saloon door swinging behind him.

 

The second he left, the hardened-looking younger man broke out into a cheery grin. He twirled his pistol on his finger a few times before snapping it back into its holster. He walked over to the table where the man was sitting and giving him a look that a casual observer might have described as amused pride.

 

Jesse pulled out another chair and sat down, cowboy boots jauntily propped up on the table, spurs digging into the wood. He picked up the cards the stranger had left behind.

 

“You know one of these days someone’s gonna figure out I actually can’t shoot for shit?” he said conversationally.

 

Walt huffed out a laugh, moving his black hat to the side, clearing more space for his partner’s boots. “Well. Until that day comes, think we’ve got time for another hand?”

 

Jesse’s eyes popped back up to him, not even a trace of the coolness and anger he’d flipped onto the stranger. He winked.

 

“For you, old man? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

 

***

 

 

The sun was just creeping up over the bluffs, pouring over the cliff tops and lighting up the desert scrubland, when Jesse twisted in his saddle to take in the image of Mr. White. He was sitting atop his own horse, reins held loosely in one hand, the other hand gesturing animatedly to sketch out whatever he was talking about this time. Jesse was more focused on the crinkling beside his eyes. Sometimes when there were a lot of jobs in a row he got used to Mr. White’s rigid posture, and how menacing his face became when he turned it onto a train conductor, making threats in a hardened voice. But Jesse liked this side of him best, this early-morning, easygoing, affable Mr. White who looked like he was born on a horse.

 

Their horses clopped through a mountain stream, hooves kicking up clear water. Mr. White turned and looked at him.

 

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

 

“Sure I did,” Jesse said. “Decline of the west, new era, no place left here for outlaws like us. Every word.”

 

“Uh huh,” said Mr. White, unconvinced. “And this doesn’t concern you?”

 

Jesse shrugged, running a hand down his horse’s neck as it stepped through the rushing water. “Dunno. But you have always been a pessimist,” he said, sending a teasing smile Mr. White’s way.

 

“Well I’ve been thinking,” said Mr. White. “And how does Bolivia sound?”

 

Jesse screwed up his face in thought. “It sounds like a kind of cattle.”

 

Mr. White sighed. “It’s a country. And it’s got a hell of a lot more opportunities than this one. I’m telling you, South America is ripe for the picking. They've got more banks and trains than they know what to do with. They’d be begging us to take a few of them off their hands.”

 

Jesse looked thoughtful. “What about Alaska?”

 

Mr. White looked astonished. “What about it?”

 

“Been hearing a lot about the Alaska Purchase lately. Seems like they’re just starting out. We could head up there and see what’s going on.”

 

“And what the hell do they have in Alaska?”

 

Jesse shrugged. “No clue. That’s what we’d find out.”

 

Mr. White just shook his head. “Boy, I’ve got vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals.”

 

Jesse snorted. “You just keep thinking, Mr. White, that’s what you’re good at.”

 

 

***

 

“Read one of the clippings,” Walt said, leaning back against a boulder. His eyes were closed, a straw of foxtail between his teeth.

 

Jesse looked up from where he’d been sorting carefully clipped articles from newspapers. Some of them were newer, some were yellow with age, the corners curling.

 

“Which one?”

 

“Any of ‘em.”

 

Jesse picked up one of the older newspaper clippings. “Aw, look it’s from the first time we robbed the flyer, remember?”

 

Walt’s lip curved up, his eyes still closed. “Vaguely.”

 

“ _Mr. White and his Crystal Blue gang_ \- okay what the hell, why is it always _your_ gang,” Jesse broke off indignantly.

 

“Keep reading, hotshot,” said Walt.

 

“I’m just saying, it’s always ‘Mr. White’s gang this’ or ‘Mr. White’s gang’ that, I mean really, who wrote this?” Jesse scanned the clipping to the bottom. “H.E. Purdell? I’m gonna punch you in the face, H.E. Purdell.”

 

“Jesse?”

 

“Okay okay. _Mr. White and his Crystal Blue gang, so named for the shipment of colored gems they robbed in 1886, have struck again. Only now they’ve graduated from banks to trains. The Dixie Flyer was hit by the Crystal Blue gang and robbed of $5000 cash_.”

 

Jesse looked up again. “Okay bullshit, that safe had one grand in it, and I mean one grand _tops_. Can they even say this? I mean isn’t this considered like, liberal…label…”

 

He trailed off, looking at Mr. White questioningly.

 

“Libel,” said Walt, tossing the used foxtail out from his teeth, hand running over the grass beside him.

 

“Yeah that,” said Jesse. “He’s libeling the shit out of us.”

 

“You should sue him,” smiled Walt, plucking up a fresh blade of grass. He placed it between his teeth, leaning back against the boulder again, hands locked behind his head.

 

“Darn right I should. Where was I. Oh yeah: _Also involved in the nefarious crime was Jesse Pinkman, sometimes known as ‘Jackpot Jesse’. Some say the train heist could never have been pulled off if not for the addition of Pinkman to the gang_. Well that’s more like it, H.E. Purdell!”

 

Walt clapped sardonically, and Jesse took a mock bow where he was seated cross-legged in the dust.

 

“Thank you, thank you very much. _Before joining forces with Mr. White, Jackpot Jesse was notorious for his own bank robbing schemes that involved dropping cast-iron bank safes onto the heads of unsuspecting bank tellers._ Okay that happened _once_ and it was an accident!”

Walt burst out laughing. “Didn’t you tell me you rigged the dynamite too hard and it fell on him?”

 

“Those sticks of dynamite were tiny, how was I supposed to know you only needed a couple?”

 

“Like your scrawny self could ever pick up a cast-iron bank safe,” Walt snorted.

 

“Pick up _this_ ,” said Jesse easily, giving Mr. White the finger over the newspaper clipping. “Oh wait here’s the best part: _Ever since Mr. White and Jackpot Jesse joined forces, reports of train and bank robbery in the West have gone up, and their joint leadership of the Crystal Blue gang is surely to blame. Some say the pair met in Albuquerque in Mr. White’s one-room schoolhouse, and that Pinkman used to be a student of Mr. White’s, back when the feared criminal was still a simple schoolteacher. But one thing is for certain: Mr. White and Jesse Pinkman are a force to be reckoned with, and the West is now on high alert with this duo in town. No train is safe, and this new partnership looks poised to take New Mexico and the rest of the West by storm, right until the bitter end._ ”

 

Jesse put down the clipping and smoothed it with his hand, almost tenderly. He glanced up at Mr. White.

 

“I like that one.”

 

“Me too.”

 

 

***

 

A steam engine let out a piercing whistle, still somewhere off in the distance, but the chugging of the wheels was getting closer to where they were hiding.

 

“Hey, don’t forget to cover your face,” said Walt, tossing Jesse a bandana.

 

Jesse picked it up incredulously. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”

 

“I know you know what a neckerchief is,” muttered Walt, knees aching from being crouched for so long behind the bushes overlooking the bend in the tracks.

 

“They’re not supposed to be _pink_ ,” said Jesse, shaking the floral, paisley pattern in Mr. White’s face.

 

“This was all they had left in the cloth store.”

 

“If this is all they had left, you’re in the wrong store, you go to another store!”

 

“Oh put it on,” snarled Walt, tying his own kerchief behind his head. He turned back to Jesse, suddenly on high alert, pistol cocked. The top half of his face was deadly serious, and the bottom half covered by a pattern of silky pink flowers. His eyes glinted dangerously, looking ludicrous above the delicate floral print. “Train’s almost here.”

 

After the robbery Jesse was still laughing at him, and Mr. White failed to see what was so amusing about the situation.

 

***

 

 

“Meet the future.”

 

“The future what?” asked Jesse, staring at whatever the hell it was that Mr. White was wheeling beside him.

 

“The future mode of transportation for this weary western world,” said Walt brightly. “This is a bicycle and they’re going to shape the modern age,” he said, patting its leather seat.

 

“You expect me to rob trains on that thing?” asked Jesse dubiously.

 

Walt rolled his eyes. “Not for business. For pleasure.”

 

Jesse raised an eyebrow at him. “I like horses. That thing looks like someone started building a wheelbarrow but got bored halfway through.”

 

“Your mother started building your brain but got bored halfway through,” said Walt. “Don’t be chicken.”

 

“Oh yeah?” asked Jesse. “Okay, old man, think I can’t do it? Move aside.”

 

Mr. White stepped graciously to the side, magnanimously balancing the bicycle where it stood in the dirt road. Jesse adjusted his cowboy hat and strode purposefully over, taking the bike from Mr. White.

 

“Okay, hands obviously go here,” he muttered to himself, ignoring Mr. White who was watching him while looking far too devious for his own good. “I sit on this thing, and push with these things…easy.”

 

He jumped onto the bicycle and pushed down on the pedals.

 

Five seconds later Walt was helping him out of a row of hedges.

 

“I like horses,” Jesse gasped again, smacking Walt’s hands away.

 

Walt swallowed a laugh. “Well to tell you the truth, they’re more fun with two people.”

 

Jesse gave him a quizzical look as Mr. White fished the bike out from the greenery. Once it was upright again, Mr. White swung a leg over it and patted the handlebars.

 

“Hop on, partner.” He grinned.

 

***

 

Walt waited, back pressed up against a tree beside the tracks, for Jesse’s signal. Two whoops to say he had a pistol digging between the train conductor’s shoulder blades and that the train would be slowing down. He risked peeking out from behind the tree to spy the train. Yes…there was the steam engine coming ‘round the bend, and there was Jesse, leaping onto the train, crouched low as he ran along the top of the boxcars.

 

Heart in his throat, Walt leaned back against the tree. He couldn’t watch this next bit: Jesse jumping from car to car, airborn for a few blood-pumping seconds with two-hundred tons of steel roaring and rushing below him.

 

Only when he heard two distinct, gleeful whoops did Walt allow himself to breathe again.

 

 

***

 

 

Jesse stood on the rocks, arms outstretched like he had a sheriff’s rifle trained on him. And taking in a deep breath he let himself fall backwards.

 

He landed with a splash in a pool of rainwater that had collected in a hollow groove up in the mountain’s rocky outcropping.

 

“You know some people just takes baths?” asked Mr. White.

 

Jesse sat drenched in the pool and scooped up some water with his hat, which he then poured over his head. “S’more fun like this.”

 

“If you say so,” Walt snorted, pulling off his boots and shucking off his jacket. He made sure the horses were tied to a tree before wandering over to where Jesse was soaking. He crouched down beside the large pool of rainwater, looking at Jesse. “I fail to see what’s so fun about sitting in your clothes in what is essentially an oversized puddle.”

 

Jesse nodded seriously. “Let me show you.”

 

And hand darting out faster than a rattlesnake he grabbed a fistful of Mr. White’s vest, and pulled him right down beside him where he landed inelegantly with a splash.

 

Walt surfaced, dripping wet, limbs flailing in the pool, choking on a mouthful of water.

 

“I am going to _kill_ you,” he gasped, sputtering.

 

“You missed a spot,” said Jesse easily, splashing him in the face.

 

 

***

 

“You sure this is gonna work?” Jesse yelled over the thunder of galloping hooves.

 

“This’ll work,” Walt shouted back, urging his horse up next to Jesse’s as close as he could get it without the racing legs of their horses getting caught in a tangle.

 

It was pitch black and they were being hotly pursued across the desert. They were lucky it was a moonless night, otherwise the posse who was galloping about a league behind them would have had a clear line of sight to shoot them right off their horses.

 

“Yeah that’s what you said about how no one would come after us,” Jesse hollered, keeping their horses level with each other.

 

“This’ll _work_.”

 

They were at a full-speed gallop and it was a miracle one of their horses hadn’t tripped in the dark, breaking its neck, and theirs in the process. Jesse gripped the reins tightly, kicking his feet out of the stirrups. Carefully he brought them up onto the back of the horse, balancing as well as he could on top of the rippling muscle beneath him. He kept his eyes fixed on the space behind Mr. White. He bent his knees, poised to spring.

 

“ _Now!_ ” Walt yelled.

 

Releasing his reins, Jesse _leapt_ from the back of his galloping horse, and landed squarely behind Mr. White, hands flinging out to grab the man’s shoulders for balance. Once he was sure he hadn’t just died in another one of Mr. White’s _insane_ schemes he allowed himself to slide down properly onto the horse, arms cinched tightly around Mr. White’s waist while he steered them sharply to the right.

 

“If they really are tracking us,” Mr. White called over his shoulder. “They’ll get to where you jumped and have to split up. Half will go after ‘you’ and half will go after me. That gives us less to deal with.”

 

“I don’t remember your division lessons being nearly this crazy,” said Jesse a bit weakly, heart still pounding from having just _jumped from one galloping horse to another_.

 

“Oh I’m sorry, would you rather be back in a classroom right now?” Mr. White asked, snapping the reins of his horse.

 

“Would _you_?” asked Jesse as the horse sped up.

 

Mr. White twisted his head as far back as it could go, giving Jesse a grin. “Not on your life.”

 

Jesse laughed a little wildly. Mr. White had no argument from him there. He tightened his arms around Mr. White, leaning into his back, and they sped across the open desert, trying to beat the sunrise.

 

 

***

 

 

Jesse stared down into the swirling rapids that had to be fifteen, hell, probably _twenty_ meters below him.

 

“Oh _hell_ no,” he said.

 

Mr. White was already taking his jacket off, the crazy bastard.

 

“Come on,” he said to Jesse. “They’ve got rifles up on every clifftop around us and they know exactly where we are. There’s nothing for it but to jump.”

 

“You are out of your mind. I mean you are _certified_ ,” said Jesse, his mouth hanging open.

 

“What, you think they’re actually going to follow us down the river? They’re stuck up here, it’s a perfect way out.”

 

“You call that perfect?” Jesse hollered, waving a hand wildly at the swirling death trap.

 

“I call that our only option,” Mr. White said, cracking his neck in preparation to jump.

 

“No way, man,” said Jesse. “No fucking way. I’m staying up here on this ledge. This is a good ledge, it’s a nice ledge. I’d be okay dying on this ledge.”

 

“Oh quit your whining,” said Mr. White, sliding his belt out from his pants, giving one end to Jesse as something to hold onto. “Get ready.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Yes way.”

 

“You’re nuts.”

 

“Maybe, let’s go.”

 

“I’m not jumping down there.”

 

“You will.”

 

“I’m not doing it, Mr. White.”

 

“You most certainly are.”

 

“No I’m not.”

 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

 

“ _I can’t swim_.”

 

Mr. White stared at him for a few stupefied moments.

 

And then burst into laughter, throwing his head back, almost cracking it against the rocks. Jesse studiously ignored him.

 

When Mr. White finally got his breath back and was finished wiping his eyes, he turned back to Jesse.

 

“Are you crazy? The fall will probably kill you!”

 

Jesse stared at him a long moment. Without a word and _extremely_ reluctantly he held out his hand, and Mr. White placed the other end of the belt in it. And they took off running, bullets whistling over their heads. They reached the edge and were leaping up, hurtling down the twenty-meter drop to plunge into the river below, Jesse yelling obscenities the whole way down.

 

 

***

 

They’d used this cave many times to hide from the law, reasonably sure that no one knew about it except them. Night had fallen and they were shivering by the time they reached its rocky opening up in the mountains. But Walt had built a fire. It snapped and burned in the center of the cave, its orange light bouncing around the walls of the cave, casting eerie shadows around them.

 

They were both quiet as they took off their sodden clothes, still dripping wet.

 

Walt was wringing his bandana out onto the floor of the cave, when he finally addressed Jesse.

 

“You know why we’re even able to build a fire in here at all?” he asked.

 

Jesse shrugged, peeling off his denim shirt that had become stuck to him. “No, why?” He’d heard Mr. White say it a hundred times but he could hear it again.

 

“The tunnel,” Mr. White said, nodding absently towards the back of the cave where not even the firelight had been able to reach. “It’s a straight updraft through the mountain, out the top of the cliff. Acts as ventilation for the smoke. Without the oxygen from outside, the fire would just produce carbon dioxide. We’d be poisoned in minutes. Pass out first. Then suffocate. Then die.”

 

Jesse nodded and waited for whatever it was Mr. White really wanted to say.

 

Walt sighed and looked at the man sitting across from him, the light from the fire dancing off his face. Christ, he was practically a kid. He shouldn’t have to be saddled to Walt, sometimes literally.

 

“Jesse they’ve been on our tails for…too long now. And given the laws of probability they’re gonna catch up to us sooner or later. Probably sooner. But it’s mostly me they want. If you want to cut out, go our separate ways, I promise I’d have no hard feelings—“

 

Jesse stood up, cutting him off, and strode over to where Mr. White was sitting on a flat rock. He cupped the man’s jaw with a tattooed hand.

 

“You know, for a genius you can really be a total moron sometimes?” he asked simply. And bending down, he sealed their mouths together, kissing Walt gently.

 

Walt suddenly remembered the first time Jesse had grabbed him by the vest, and yanked him down to kiss him. They’d both narrowly escaped another posse in another year, riding desperately towards the train tracks. The gunmen had been behind them taking shots, and a train had been off to the side blowing a warning whistle. If they could cross the tracks first and get the train to cut off their pursuers they’d be in the clear. They’d sped across the tracks, just making it but _barely_. The tail of Walt’s horse had been cut clean off by the grill of the steam engine, that’s how close it had been. They’d made it to the trees a few miles away, only stopping galloping when they’d reached the river. They jumped off their horses, chests heaving, out of breath, and before Walt knew it, Jesse had been pulling him down towards him, kissing him desperately. Walt felt like he’d been hit by the train after all.

 

Now he reached up to cup the back of Jesse’s head. He broke away from his lips, murmuring: “Jesse, I—“

 

Jesse placed a finger over Walt’s lips. “You know the part where I kissed you? That was where I wanted you to shut up.”

 

Walt did.

 

Jesse unbuttoned the plaid shirt Walt was wearing, stopping every few moments to kiss Walt’s chest, nuzzling it. He pulled the shirt out from Walt’s pants, his hands going to the custom cowboy’s buckle he’d given Walt one year for a birthday present. He undid it, and Walt let Jesse push him back down against the prickly blanket they kept on the floor of the cave. Jesse pulled Walt’s pants all the way off and looked up at him, eyes glittering.

 

“Let my mouth do some of the work for a change,” he said before bending down, and taking Walt between his lips.

 

Walt’s hands gripped the blanket, and his hips jumped upwards, thrusting into the warm, wet heat of Jesse’s mouth. Jesse’s fingers tightened on Walt’s hips as he sucked him off, his mouth gliding achingly along Walt’s length.

 

Eventually Walt stopped Jesse so that he could feverishly rid Jesse of his clothes and get his hands on that lean body that was somehow both sharp and unbelievably soft at the same time. Walt thrust into him as they rolled together, their gasps echoing around the cave, their skin heating up from both the fire and each other, Jesse’s mouth burning against his. He sighed when he felt Jesse’s hands going to his back, pulling Walt closer.

 

After it was over, Jesse curled into him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Walt squeezed the hand that was splayed over his heart. “Not even to Bolivia?”

 

Jesse groaned. “My God, do you even speak Spanish?”

 

Walt felt a lightness in his chest, knowing he had him. “Oh come on. How hard can it be?”

 

***

 

“Esto es un robo!” Walt barked.

 

The Bolivian citizens, who just wanted to get in a day of banking, all looked at each other in concern, muttering worriedly in Spanish. They put their hands up immediately and lined up against the wall in a nervous but controlled fashion.

 

“Manos arriba!” Walt said confidently.

 

“Their hands are up already, genius,” said Jesse, his voice muffled by the bandana he wore across his face.

 

“Um,” said Walt, faltering. “Arriba!”

 

“They’re _up!_ ” said Jesse, gun pointed at the civilians. “Do the next one!”

 

Walt paused, blanking. And thrusting his hand into his pockets he pulled out a cue card.

 

“Todos ustedes arrimense a la pared!” he said, reading from the card.

 

“ _They’re against the wall already_.”

 

“Oh you’re so damn smart, you read it,” Walt growled, slapping the cue card against Jesse’s chest as he went over to the safe.

 

 

***

 

 

They were facing off with the Bolivian police, six of them facing two of Walt and Jesse. The policia had caught up to them on a mountainside somewhere in the Andes, and had their rifles pointed right at them.

 

Jesse’s face was white but determined. “You take the three on the right, I’ll take the three on the left.”

 

Mr. White looked like he was in a daze. Jesse wasn’t sure the man had heard him, until Mr. White said in an eerily quiet voice: “Kid, there’s something I ought to tell you. I never shot anybody before.”

 

Jesse kept facing forward, but his eyes widened slowly. “One hell of a time to tell me.”

 

The Bolivian police were shouting at them, and starting to feel a bit panicked, Jesse said, “But I’ve seen you hit targets. You get the bullseye every time.”

 

“That’s paper though,” said Mr. White looking sick.

 

Jesse _felt_ sick. But he bit his lip, cocked his pistol, and firmly said: “Same theory.”

 

After they buried the last body they hurried off. They’d bought themselves another night, but Jesse knew it wouldn’t be long until everything came crashing down around them. They built a fire in a clearing, and Mr. White stripped Jesse of his clothes, putting his mouth on him, his hands on him, taking him apart with an intensity and desperation Jesse hadn’t felt from him before.

 

When they were done, Jesse started to move away so he could go keep watch for the night. But Mr. White pulled him back down.

 

“What’s up?” Jesse murmured, settling against Mr. White’s skin.

 

Walt bit his lip. “I have a bad feeling, is all.”

 

Jesse reached up to stroke Mr. White’s cheek. “You just keep thinking, Mr. White,” he said sleepily. “That’s what you’re good at.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

Weighted down by ammunition, Walt raced towards Jesse. Something needle-sharp and burning hot pierced his side, but he kept running. Reaching the building he felt Jesse pull him forwards with the hand that wasn’t shooting a pistol against the soldiers who’d found them. They both stumbled through the door of the building, falling down, and crawled towards the wall where they could be afforded a few minutes of blessed silence to reload.

 

“You call that giving cover?” Walt gasped, hand going to his side, which was stained red.

 

“You call that running?” Jesse asked, wincing from his own gunshot wound. “If I’d known you were going to stroll…”

 

Jesse ripped off part of his own bloodied shirt with his teeth. Taking one of Walt’s hands, he started to bandage it.

 

“So the next time I say let’s go someplace like Alaska, let’s _go_ someplace like Alaska.”

 

“Next time,” agreed Walt. And they exchanged an aching glance, neither acknowledging that they barely had enough time left for a _this_ time, let alone a next time.

 

“Mr. White…” whispered Jesse. “I—“

 

Walt leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, his blood in Jesse’s mouth, Jesse’s tasting metallic in his, their blood mingled together and running through the both of them, the way they were supposed to be.

 

Jesse clutched his shoulders, kissing him back desperately, ignoring the stabbing pain in his arms as he threw them around Mr. White.

 

When they could finally tear themselves away, Walt leaned his forehead against Jesse’s. Jesse’s hand went to this back of his head, holding him in place so that their last breaths could be shared.

 

“You know,” said Walt, eyes closed. “Seems like we haven’t shown them anything yet. I thought maybe we could head out there and really give them a run for their money?”

 

“We’re cornered and it’s four dozen against us two,” Jesse murmured.

 

“So? Then they can go get four dozen more to even things out.”

 

Jesse huffed out a laugh. “You just keep thinking, Mr. White. That’s what you’re good at.”

 

Walt opened his eyes to stare into Jesse’s, which were – unbelievably – sparkling at him despite everything. He smiled and stoked Jesse’s cheek with his thumb, leaving a trail through the blood and dirt.

 

“Let’s go get ‘em.”

 

And pulling each other to their feet they picked up their pistols, loaded them, exchanged one last, understanding look, and ran out into the hailstorm of bullets. The newspapers had always said they’d take the West by storm, right until the bitter end. But in a way they were wrong. Because this might have been the end, but Jesse was still right beside him. And nothing was bitter about that at all.

 

 

The End.

 

 


End file.
